


Return to Sender

by Jackdaw816



Category: Torchwood
Genre: Catharsis, Crack Treated Seriously, Gen, Humor, Post-Episode: s02e01 Kiss Kiss Bang Bang
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-17
Updated: 2021-02-17
Packaged: 2021-03-12 01:01:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,346
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29501694
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jackdaw816/pseuds/Jackdaw816
Summary: John left behind quite an arsenal; Jack's happy to return it
Relationships: Jack Harkness/Ianto Jones, Past Jack Harkness/John Hart
Comments: 15
Kudos: 41





	Return to Sender

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to Nik for betaing and also inspiring me to drag this fic off my WIP list!

“Jack,” Ianto asked, sticking his head into his office. Jack looked up from the return-to-office forms he should have been filling in but was instead doodling in the margins of and grinned. “Can I have a word?”

“You can have several,” Jack said, leaning back in his chair, paperwork forgotten. Oh, it was good to be home. “What’s up?” Ianto stepped into the office, leaving the door ajar. Pity. So it was actually business he had in mind.

“It seems that in his haste, Captain Hart neglected to retrieve the weapons we confiscated from him,” Ianto said, the faintest mockery gracing his formal tone. “I was wondering what I should do with them.” Jack leaned forward and pressed his fingertips together. 

A hard question. On one hand, John had always carried quality kit. His personal arsenal would be a notable addition to the Torchwood armory. On the other hand, Jack didn’t want anything John had to offer, even on accident, anywhere near his team. And he might come back for it; he’d always been pissy about losing his toys. Better to get them gone. Although… that gave Jack an idea.

“Gather them up, then meet me in the SUV,” Jack ordered. There was a flicker of confusion, then Ianto nodded.

“Of course, sir.” Jack snuck a look at his arse as he left, then turned and pulled up Tosh’s Rift prediction program. Surprisingly, the Rift was still active at the car park where he’d come through. He’d have to look into that if it didn’t seal up soon, but for now, it was perfect. He turned off his computer, retrieved his coat, and made his way to the garage.

To his credit, Ianto didn’t ask. He just held the duffle bag of weaponry as Jack drove through the Cardiff night. They reached the car park and went right to the top. Jack flipped open his bracer, pushed a button, and the Rift shimmered into view, its glow dimmer than the day before, but enough for Jack’s purposes.

“Jack?” Ianto asked, the golden light reflecting in his eyes. “What are you doing?” Jack turned to him and grinned. He opened the duffle, and pulled out a gun, bulkier than his taste but then John always had the tendency to overcompensate.

“Taking out the trash.” Then with a shout, Jack hurled the gun into the Rift. A flash of light and it was gone.

“I believe this would be classified as littering, sir,” Ianto said. But that didn’t stop him from reaching into the duffle himself and passing Jack the second handgun. Jack grinned and threw that one in as well. 

“Isn’t this an Earth tradition?” Laser knife, gone. “Throwing out your ex’s shit?” When the hell had John gotten shuriken? Didn’t matter, into the Rift they went. Pearl-handled derringer? He was glad to be rid of that.

“It can be,” Ianto replied evenly. “But normally it’s clothes or gifts.” He pulled a small bag out of the duffle and shook it lightly. “Not explosives.” Jack grinned and took the bag from him.

“For John, weaponry is a perfectly suitable gift. That or alcohol.” He unfastened the bag and pulled out a charge. “You think this’ll blow?” Ianto took a deliberate step back. “Well, I guess there’s only one way to know.” Ianto took another step back as Jack flicked the explosive into the Rift like a coin into a pond.

The charge burst and sparked with blue light, combatting the gold. Jack let out a whistle, and Ianto’s eyes went wide.

“Might hold onto these,” Jack said, sealing the bag and tucking the remaining sixteen charges into a pocket of his coat. “Make a mighty fine Fourth of July display.”

“Jack, we’re in Wales,” Ianto sighed. “You’re not even actually American.” Jack grinned. 

“But I do enjoy a good barbecue.” Ianto just rolled his eyes. “Alright, what’s left?”

“Pair of pistols, the sword, and this knife,” Ianto said, drawing the third from the duffle. Jack took it from him gingerly. Rather than toss it directly in the Rift, Jack paused and drew the blade from the sheath. He hadn’t realized John had been carrying it.

“Something special about that one?” Ianto asked, eyeing the gleaming silver stiletto warily. Jack shook his head, then nodded.

“It used to be mine.” He couldn’t remember if John had stolen it or if he’d given it to him. It didn’t really matter now, did it? He stroked his thumb over the initials scratched into the hilt. The initials of a man long dead. “I’d wondered where it’d disappeared too.” He laughed, replaced the sheath, then tossed the blade into the Rift. 

There was a flash that Jack closed his eyes against, then Ianto was handing him twin pistols. Almost done then. He didn’t waste time tossing them in, no sentimentality for back-up guns. Finally, Ianto handed him the katana. Snake-skin. So dramatic. The last piece. One little toss and it was done. But his hands didn’t seem to want to move.

“It seems a shame to throw that away,” Ianto said after a few moments of silence. Jack looked at him. “It seems very high-quality.” Jack let out a scoff. He doubted that severely. He couldn’t even remember John using a sword back in their Agency days. It was for show. Just like everything else about him.

“So you’re suggesting we, what? Hang it on the wall? Trophy of the rogue Time Agent?” Jack said, tone far more contemptuous than he would have liked. Ianto shrugged.

“There’s space for it in the armory.” He gave Jack a look, something in his eyes Jack couldn’t name. “No harm done.” Jack gripped the sword tighter, then nodded stiffly.

“Fine. Let’s head back.” He passed the katana back to Ianto, then flipped open his bracer. Another push of a button and the glow began to fade.

“So is there just weaponry floating around in space now?” Ianto asked. Jack chuckled.

“Could be. I sent out a pulse for John’s manipulator, but I have no clue if it worked.” He shrugged and stepped closer to Ianto. “Either way, it’s not our problem.”

* * *

Three thousand years forward and a dozen light-years away, John Hart was taking a nap. He’d had a very exhausting brush with death and a very irritating meeting with his ex, and all he wanted was to not think for a good few hours. Unfortunately, that plan was interrupted by the beep of his vortex manipulator.

He groaned, cracked open one eye, and lifted his arm to his face. Rift activity. Intentional activity. Now jarringly fully awake, John pulled himself up into a sitting position and examined the readings more closely. Had Jack come to his senses and sent a message? He couldn’t travel himself, but that wasn’t an issue John was concerned with.

Above him, the ceiling started to crackle with golden light. He looked up, squinting into the glow. Before he could do more, a gun fell out of the glow and hit him square in the face.

John swore, loudly and scrambled away from the bed. He pressed a hand to his face, wincing, then pulled it away to find blood. Grand. There was another flare and a second gun fell out of the Rift. He frowned and picked it up. It was his own, one of the ones he had to leave behind-

Oh. He knew what was going on. Two seconds after that realization, a handful of shuriken fell, ripping holes in his pillow and sending feathers flying. Wow. Honestly, this was the most violent way he’d had his stuff returned post-break-up, oh, wait no. No, this was the second-worst.

John retreated to a safe distance and watched, pressing a cloth to his face, as the rest of his weapons fell out of the Rift. Well, at least he was getting it all back. He couldn’t say Jack wasn’t a fair man. His back-up pistols toppled out of the glow, and moments later, it faded. John frowned. He’d been taking a mental tally and-

“ _Where’s my fucking sword?_ ”

**Author's Note:**

> The literal description of this fic in my notes was "Jack yeets John's shit in the Rift after KKBB" so count yourself lucky that I did not use yeet in the actual story because I have one shred of dignity left


End file.
